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I’ll be back soon.

I sighed, swiping back a sweaty piece of brown hair, and let the tears come. I didn’t know if I should be wanting him to come back.

That clutched something in my heart. God! I was pining over Fletcher. After only just getting out of the cages that he had stuffed me in. What did that mean? That I was weak? Still as gullible as I used to be? Had I learned anything?

Don’t.

I sniffed, not fully understanding what he meant.

Fletcher didn’t say anything else, and neither did I.

I cried well into the night, alone. At some point, I spotted my Invisible Etta book on the nightstand and clutched it to my chest, feeling like this was a reminder that I was where I belonged.

Hours passed, nearing four in the morning.

My crying had turned into a void of emotions.

The darkness around me felt fitting. Feeling as empty as a starless night, Fletcher’s arms encircling me began fading like I could only grasp faint echoes of his touch.

And it was in that moment, where the last echo petered into nothingness on my skin, that I admitted I didn’t want them to fade.

A craving blew a hole into my soul, catching at the base of my throat in the form of a hard lump.

His touch was as vital as air. But could I trust my instincts when they had failed me so many times?

Missing him was insufferable, and if I didn’t have to continue to suffocate without him…

The way he had ripped Mirin off me, touched my cheek softly, listened to me cry, held me. Those were hardly signs of someone who wanted to use me. Someone who wanted to betray me.

My blood gave him magic. I had seen it myself.

If someone else had farmed me… They’d have known I was different from all the other captured Elizians.

What would the Cidris have done with my blood?

At least with Fletcher on the inside, he had stopped them from buying my blood, keeping that knowledge hidden .

My stomach roiled at the thought of anyone else having my blood.

The carnage that could have ensued. Trapped in the cage, I had always dreaded when my body was deemed healed enough for harvest and I was illuminated in white light.

I knew by the count of ten, Fletcher would arrive.

It had been Fletcher’s only option, hadn’t it?

Could I go back to how I used to see him?

Fletcher had simultaneously put me in danger and saved my life.

The feeling of Mirin inside me made my stomach turn. His rough hands on my skin. The tears still burned my eyes. My body felt wrong. The space that I occupied felt too small, like thorns were encroaching on all sides, scarring my skin.

I conjured the feeling of Fletcher’s hands on me in the same places where Mirin’s had been. I imagined them healing the area, erasing the foreign, unwanted touch. I thought of him in all the areas Mirin had been, and it soothed some of that violated ache.

Despite everything that had ensued, my body couldn’t deny that Fletcher’s touch felt familiar—loving.

And I realized I’d given into that craving for him enough to pulverize the trauma of what he had done into rubble that I could sweep into the corners of my mind, forgiven and tempered… but still not forgotten.

Flashes of us in the showers together from two months ago filled my mind. Of being right here on this bed where his fingers moved expertly in me. It made my core writhe with desire and want. And suddenly, the memory of Mirin was being buried in the back of my mind.

And if just thinking about Fletcher’s touch brought me some level of comfort, perhaps the actual thing had the potential to completely heal me .

CHAPTER EIGHT

Thoughts vanquished my exhausted mind in alternating waves of despair and hope.

But they all ran scared in the darkness of the early morning when sounds of someone shuffling came from downstairs.

Fear ignited in my body as I quickly wiped the tears.

Carefully, I inched out of bed and silently crawled to the banister to peer through the railing down into the first floor.

My gaze lingered as I tucked my hair behind both of my ears with one hand and held the blanket securely around my naked body with the other.

Standing in front of the kitchen counter on the opposite side of the house stood a tall figure.

As my vision sharpened, I recognized Fletcher’s wavy, dark hair, broad shoulders, and thin waist. I watched as he poured himself a shot of alcohol then adjusted the collar of his loose, black t-shirt that covered most of his biceps.

I watched carefully as he turned, brought the shot glass to the living room table just below me, and took a seat.

He slouched, staring at the glass for several moments, turning it on the table like he was deciding on whether to take it or not.

Finally, he brought it to his lips and let it slide down his throat in one smooth swallow.

He set it back down as his jaw feathered.

Did you want one too, Ripley? Fletcher’s voice infiltrated my mind before his skin beautifully curled in cerulean patterns and his eyes latched onto mine without lifting his chin.

I shook my head and let my fingers wrap around a pole of the railing. Alcohol inhibited my magic, and I didn’t want anything messing with my mental clarity.

I watched carefully as his eyes fell back onto his empty glass.

He looked like hell, and instead of exuding darkness, it was sorrow that proliferated the house.

Aside from his freshly shaven face, the rest of him still looked weathered, especially when I saw that his eyes had gotten redder.

The darkness surrounding his eyes grew more haunting.

His wavy hair was knotted and tumbled over his forehead.

In a low, raw tone, I asked, “Are you okay? ”

There was a beat of silence before he thought, I just need a minute. I’ll be up soon.

When he didn’t move after a minute, I used the poles of the banister as leverage to get to my feet and crawl back into bed. My body felt like it was made of lead and someone had thrown me into the ocean. I fought the exhaustion though. Because the promise of Fletcher was too close to miss.

Twenty lonely minutes passed in silence. I kept my eyes on the empty room, waiting for him to appear beside me or climb the stairs, but he never did.

Are you still there?

I heard him clear his throat and take a sharp inhale from downstairs. Yeah.

What’s wrong?

I listened to him sigh and the clink of the glass on the table top, like he had picked it up and set it back down. I’m just… very tired.

I scootched myself from the center of the bed to the left side. Come sleep then.

He didn’t answer. Perhaps my magic hadn’t sent it to him, and I couldn’t tell with my hands under the covers.

I sat up, swung my feet over the edge of the bed, and stepped to the railing, taking the blanket on the bed with me to cover myself up.

My dull brunette hair spilled over my hands as I grasped its corners.

I rested my forearms over the banister to look at Fletcher below.

He was in the same position as I had last seen him in. “Come sleep.”

He lifted his gaze to me then slowly shook his head once. “Go to bed, Ripley. I’ll be taking the couch tonight.”

I parted my lips, confused. Had he changed his mind during the twenty minutes about coming up?

Did he not want to sleep beside me? A ping of something heavy swelled in my chest. Why was he not taking every opportunity to cater to me after what he had done?

Both the selfishness of the thought and the truth of it clamped down on my stomach with conflict.

I let my fingers drift across the banister toward the stairs. I held his gaze as I gradually made my way down the steps. Cautiously, I took a seat across from him, the blanket warm against my bare bottom.

He squared his shoulders to me and let his forearms rest on the table.

Seeing him up close was alarming. The scar across his temple looked like an angry infection was taking over, tears glittered on his lower lids, and his breathing was very shallow.

Something that still lived between us tugged at my heart.

I didn’t like seeing him this way. I wanted to ease his state of mind, clean the wound, and hold him until that haunted look in his eyes dissipated, but…

I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than stare.

Flashes of him hitting that red button halted that instinct.

So, I kept my lips pressed together and waited for something to happen.

Fletcher shifted uncomfortably as he parted his lips then closed them, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit something.

I kept quiet. The pressure of the silence doing its work for me.

Finally, he started slowly, keeping his line of vision down at the table.

“I regret everything about my life.” There was a sad lilt in his low, raspy voice that I hated, like he had been crying or screaming or both.

He swallowed hard and tears filled his eyes.

“I’ve made too many mistakes.” A tear spilled over his cheek, leaving a glistening wet trail.

Then another. With his shoulder, he wiped one away.

“I… I don’t,” he gulped, “want to be… anymore.”

A hard lump formed in my throat. With the admission, suddenly he looked even worse. My heart sank, and it outweighed the trauma of the cages. My hand instinctively fell across the table beside his drink, my palm facing up. This was not a gesture of trust but of kindness.

He looked at my open hand, then the glass, and pondered. He took a deep breath and let his hand lie loosely in mine. “You wanted to run that day in the hills. I should have just let you try.”